The TellTale Deduction
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Sherlock is called upon to solve a case in which a serial killer has a taste for the macabre. Can he solve it before another young woman is killed? Sherlolly. Rated M for some adult themes: language, gruesome murder, non-consentual sexual content, character death.
1. Chapter 1

New story idea came to me...once again...at work. I love how brainless my job is. It allows me to sort through the random thoughts that freely float about in my head. Anyway, here is another Morbid brainchild! Enjoy!

Depressing statement: I don't own anything relating to Sherlock Holmes.

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The young woman pounded on the wood that surrounded her closely. She clawed at it, trying to force it away. The attempts were useless, as the box that held her frail body was crushed under the pressure of earth. The girl gasped for oxygen, trying to save herself from the inevitable. When there was none left, her eyes dimmed and closed. Her body lay still inside the makeshift coffin, an unmarked grave now her place of domain. Above her, treading across the ground, was the man who had put her there. He hauled away his shovel, stowing it in the far corner of his beat down truck. He crawled into the cab and drove away from the site.

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''Three disappearances over the last two weeks.'' Lestrade said from behind his desk. On the other side stood Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Lestrade flipped the photos around to show the two men the missing faces. John's eyes widened at the images.

''They all look similar.'' He said, looking at Greg, then to Sherlock. The consulting detective gazed at the photos carefully, his face straight and unmoving. Without looking up he began his deductions.

''The first one is a junkie. Her boyfriend called in the report, I take it. The second didn't have family to speak of. However, when she failed to show up for work the third day in a row, her employer grew worried. Finally, this latest victim. She is younger than the other two, despite her mature appearance. Her parents are in the lobby, silently arguing as to who's to blame. Divorced couple, then. This girl can't be more than 17. Am I right?" He asked at the end, looking to the inspector across the desk. Lestrade sighed, before nodding his head.

''Her parents came in about three hours ago. Apparently the girl was at some sort of camp in Brighton, and was due back on the train yesterday afternoon. The station in Brighton said she got on the train, even have her on camera boarding. Thing is, she never got off.'' He flipped forward the second girl's picture.

''This girl was last seen shopping in a local market about a week ago. She had gone into work that morning, and we have footage of her leaving her job after her shift ended. She went to a nearby market, and we lost track of her on CCTV after that. Gone, just like that.'' He looked perplexed at the third picture.

''I'm afraid to say we don't really hold out hope that she's still alive. Her disappearance was two weeks ago. Her boyfriend called in saying she had gone out for a film with her friends, and was due back home after. When she hadn't returned by the next day, he phoned us. We have no way of tracking where she went after the movie ended.'' He leaned back in his chair as he looked at the men in his office. Sherlock's mind was already stirring up the possible explanations. John merely looked at the photos, noting the similarities in their appearances.

Three beautiful young faces. All possessing flawless, pale skin. Each set of eyes a hazelnut brown. Their hair all a shade of light auburn. John felt that they each looked familiar to him, he couldn't place why. Sherlock simply nodded to Lestrade, agreeing to take on the case. He swiveled around, exiting the office. John scrambled to keep up with the talk man as he made his way over to the parents of the latest girl.

''She would've been fine if she had only stayed with the bus like I suggested.'' The father bit at the woman sitting next to him. She had tears in her eyes, and er face was contorted into a look of anger.

''She's 17, Tom, she is old enough to make her own choices, and she wanted to take the train back.'' The mother responded, bringing a tissue to her eyes. Both looked up to see a tall man swiftly approaching them. They both stood up to greet him, and the shorter man that trailed behind.

''Ah, Mr. And Mrs. Gaines, I'm terribly sorry to hear about what's happened.'' Sherlock said in a surprisingly human voice. The woman opened her mouth first.

''Actually, it's not Gaines, not anymore.'' She looked at the father with distaste.

''Of course it isn't.'' Sherlock said, his voice having returned to normal.

''I merely wanted to see how you presented yourselves to a stranger, I can see you are long past the reconciliation phase. Now, about your daughter...'' he began, before the man interjected.

''Listen, who are you? We just want our daughter back. We don't need some...some freak coming in here and wasting our time.'' He spat bitterly. Sherlock took in a deep breath through his nose, John new what was about to come.

''Tom Gaines, you work for the law firm in Soho. You now live with your girlfriend, who is also your secretary, and the primary source of your divorce. You have a nasty tendency to drink too much on the weekends. You also have a closet addiction to cocaine and pornography. You haven't had your customary cup of coffee this morning, leaving you a tad more irritable than usual, thus leading you to make irrational statements like the one you just said. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and believe me, it is MY time that you need to worry about wasting. So, I'd be careful about insulting the one person who can most potentially get your daughter back alive. Sound like a plan? Good.''

The man stood there, mouth tightly closed in a straight line. The woman looked back and forth between her ex husband and the detective.

''Now, please tell me everything you can about your daughter and her recent trip.''

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Well, chapter one. Hope you like it. Read and review, pretty please. Also, check out my other stuff. For those of you who liked The Sentiment Behind Pet Names, I did write an excerpt, in case some of you missed it. Thanks one and all! 


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to the reviews from:

Juze: i shall strive my best not to disappoint, thanks for the constant reviews.

Magicstrikes: love you, thanks! Lol.

Guest: hope you stick with it, i am having a good time writing it so far.

Patemalah21: aye aye, captain. Lol

Flyaway213: ooh, i like the evil laugh. Kinda reminds me of Dr. Horrible. Lol. Hope you like ch. 2.

Other guest: yay! Thanks. Here's that update!

Hope you all like it. Here's Chapter Two.

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Samantha Gaines woke to the sound of a hammer beating away. She blinked her eyes, trying to get them to focus. Once she had clear vision, she took in her surroundings. The floor was soil and straw, it felt rough beneath her bare feet. Her mouth felt dry, and she could taste cotton on her tongue. She tried licking her lips, only to discover that her mouth was filled with a fabric gag. She let a silent tear fall as she began feeling the rope fibers digging into her wrists and ankles. She squirmed slightly, trying to free herself. No use. The hammering stopped. Samantha felt her heart beat increase in pace as she heard footsteps from behind her approaching. She felt a gritty hand on the back of her neck and she began to sob. A dark laughter filled the air behind her ear, and she felt the rough hand move aside her shirt. Samantha Gaines closed her eyes.

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Sherlock had gathered all the information he could on Samantha from her parents. After separating them, he found they were each more cooperative than when being placed in the same room. Sherlock never liked dealing with emotional people. It made them more obnoxious in his mind. However, it was one of the more tedious parts of his career as a consulting detective. John and Sherlock went to the train station, looking for clues and any sign of the young girl's presence.

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Samantha cried softly as her captor finished. She felt grime all over her. She felt dirty, tired, and hungry. She then felt the large man pick her up and fling her over his shoulder. Her jeans still wrapped around her ankles, she kicked against the fabric, trying to free her legs. She struggled against a strong hand that held her in place, before it tossed her into a cage. She remained tied in the ropes, her hands behind her back. He forcefully shut the cage door, and locked it with a loud creaking. Samantha fell back, sitting down on the rough surface of the earthy floor. She looked out of the cage, seeing large metallic walls surrounding her from further off. One giant door could be seen in the corner, as the burly man stepped through it, leaving her alone in the room to cry.

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''There, do you see?" Sherlock asked John, who was trying to see whatever it was that the detective was observing. He shook his head, looking up to Sherlock in bewilderment. Sherlock scoffed, before walking over to where the thing was in the parking lot of the station. He knelt down, and collected a sample of the dry dirt that clumped on the pavement. He then placed the sample into a small dish and stood up.

''Come on, John.'' He said, winding past the short doctor. John sighed, before turning around.

''Where are we going, Sherlock?" He yelled after him.

''St. Bart's!"

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Molly Hooper sat in the corner of the lab, running a blood sample for the patient on the third floor in ICU. The doors to the lab burst open, and Sherlock waltzed through them, his Bel staff coat blowing behind him. Molly jumped slightly at the intrusive noise the doors made, and she looked up.

''Oh, hello Sherlock. John.'' John smiled from behind Sherlock, giving her a slight wave. She smiled back, before looking up to see the tall man hovering over her.

''Molly, I see you've acquired a new jumper. Present from your mother, no doubt. Why do you insist on allowing her to dress you? Clearly she is going blind. This one is worse than last year's.'' He quickly said, not taking a second glance to see a small tear fall from her eye. She looked to John, giving him a knowing look.

''Right. I'll just go get you some coffee.'' She said, before quickly pushing past him. His gaze didn't follow her, and he heard John calling after her, his voice laced with sympathy. Sherlock turned and produced the sample he had taken from earlier. He began separating it to different vials and tubes. John stomped over to him, a clearly agitated look on his face.

''What is it, John?" Sherlock asked in a clipped voice. John pushed him away from his position behind the microscope, causing Sherlock to look at him with wide eyes.

''You great git. Do you really not remember the last time we were in here? Molly's mum passed away just three weeks ago. That sweater was the last thing she gave Molly. And you've just gone and insulted it. Bravo, Sherlock.'' John crossed his arms, waiting for the light to go off in Sherlock's head. He suddenly sat a little straighter, his body going stiff. He did remember, well, at least he did now. Before it seemed like a bit of trivia, so he pushed it aside in his mind. She had been wearing the same sweater then, her mom having just passed away the night before. He recalled the redness that Molly's eyes possessed that day. She looked tired, from both crying and a lack of sleep. Sherlock sighed, and John backed down as Molly came through the door. She held two cups of coffee in her hands. Sherlock glanced up to see that her eyes echoed the same redness from that day. Yet her face wore a small smile as she handed John a cup, and then bringing the second to his side. She gently placed it down beside him on the table, and turned to walk away. Sherlock's am stretched out, stopping her by her wrist. He slowly pulled her back, and she stared at him with confused eyes.

''I apologize, Molly. I forgot about your mother's passing. The sweater looks lovely on you. Please, forgive me.'' He said, not looking up at her. She nodded weakly, and gave him a small smile. He released her wrist, and she walked over to her original place in the corner. John smirked in approval at Sherlock, feeling proud that his friend was learning to use a bit of tact with the young pathologist.

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A few hours later, one of the machines beeped. Sherlock jumped up excitedly, and practically ran to it. Molly, trying to assist, had done the same. They crashed into each other, and Molly fell backwards. Sherlock was fast to react, and pulled her up by her waist. She stood, regaining her balance. She then blushed, realising Sherlock's hands were still around her waist. She gently pushed out of his grasp, and took a step back.

''Sorry.'' She spoke quietly, before going to print the results of the test. Sherlock stood there, looking down at his hands for a moment. She handed him the papers, and he took them from her carefully. He glanced at the findings, and motioned for John to follow him.

''What does it say?" John asked, grabbing his coat.

''The source of our sample is somewhere around Waterloo.'' He said, swinging the doors of the lab open. Molly looked after the men as they left, her fingers unconsciously drumming over her waist.

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Well, there's chapter two. I know it's a bit slow paced right now, but I promise some very exciting stuff is coming up. Please just amuse me. Well, anyway, read, review, favorite...if you please! Thanks dearies!


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for the reviews! I was beginning to wonder if people suddenly didn't like me. But I see I was wrong. Thank you:

Flyaway213: hm, ya know...those may be something akin to clues. I don't know. Lol. Keep reading!

Lucy36: thank you so much for all the awesome reviews on, like, ALL my stories. I'm glad you are enjoying them. Sorry it took all day for chapter three...hope you like it.

Ally: here be ch. 3! Hope you like it!

Juze: I know, poor kid. Like I said above, I can't tell you everything, cause that's just...well...not fair. Thanks for reading!

Magicstrikes: I promise it does go somewhere. Lol. Just may take a bit longer in this fic to get there.

Chapter three

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The man drove into the heart of London, his face contorted with rage. 'Must find another.' The voice in his head whispered. He shook his head violently, cringing at the harsh chuckle the voice had. He would find another. Find someone to replace her.

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Sherlock and John sat on the train to Waterloo. Sherlock looked out the window, clearly not gazing at the scenery. His fingers drummed against each other as he recalled the tingling sensation they had been exposed to earlier. John took note of Sherlock's new twitch. He sat next to him, watching the detective's fingers flex and move ever so slightly. Curiosity got the best of him.

''Sherlock, what is wrong with your hands? You've been moving them constantly since earlier this morning.'' John asked. Sherlock didn't seem to register what he was saying, merely responding with neutral answers.

''Hm? Oh, yes. Right.'' John looked at him again, a small smirk creeping up on his face. Whatever it was that caused Sherlock to be so distracted, it certainly had nothing to do with this case. They spent the remainder of the trip in silence.

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A few hours later, the train pulled into the station. The two men disembarked, and made their way inside. As they approached the ticket counter, Sherlock took in his surroundings. John pulled out a photo of the young Gaines girl. He showed the man at the counter.

''Oh yea, I remember seeing her here with her father just yesterday. She seemed rather ill, slumped over by his side. He mentioned something about motion sickness. Poor kid.'' The older gentleman explained. John looked to Sherlock.

''Could you give us a description of what the man looked like?" John asked. The man nodded his head slightly and began to describe the girl's ''father.'' It wasn't even a close match to Tom Gaines. The man in question was practically the polar opposite of Samantha's father. Large, standing approximately seven feet high. He was bald, grossly overweight, and had scars up and down his arms. Nothing like the clean cut business man from Soho. John thanked the clerk, and he proceeded to follow Sherlock outside.

''Where to now?" John asked, gazing up at his friend. Sherlock stood unmoving.

''I have no clue.'' He said, looking around the town's surrounding buildings.

OoOo

The man drove down the long street past a large white building. He slowed as he saw what he was looking for. A young woman with strawberry colored hair and slender figure walked from outside the building. She wore a canary yellow sweater and black trousers. 'She's the one.' The voice called to him from within. He reasoned with it as he saw the man escorting her.

''What about him?" He asked aloud, as he stared at the short, stubby man who walked alongside her. The voice spoke again. 'Disposed of easily enough. You've done it before. She's perfect. She's the one.' The man nodded as a grin grew on his face. He followed them down the street, and then followed behind the cab that carried them away.

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Sherlock and John had proceeded into town, asking a few of the locals if they had seen the young woman or the large man who was 'escorting' her. Few were helpful, which led to Sherlock's ever-growing frustration.

''Stupid. They are all stupid.'' He seethed as they walked out of a nearby tavern. John looked warily at his friend.

''Sherlock, perhaps he isn't a local. Samantha Gaines was the only one to disappear from anywhere outside of London. Perhaps the man got lucky, found her here, and took her before the train reached home.'' John tried comforting his friend's mind. He had seen Sherlock get frustrated before, when things did not go according to his plans. Sherlock merely grumbled to himself as they walked down the street.

OoOo

Molly's shift had almost ended. She was looking forward to going home and relaxing for the weekend. It had been the first time since her mother's death that she was free to do what she wanted with her time. Molly finished up the paperwork for the last cadaver, and filed it away with the other reports. She was preparing her things to leave.

''Oh, hey Molly. Didn't know you were still here.'' She heard a voice behind her. Mike Stamford stood in the doorway, smiling at her. She waved at him, before collecting the rest of her things.

''I was just leaving, actually. Unless there was something you needed.'' She started to put her bag back down, when Mike motioned for her to stop.

''Nonono, no need to do that. I was actually coming to make good on my bet that we had. You were right, it was the ruptured spleen and not the lung cancer that killed Mrs. Dresbow. I owe you a pint. And a Stamford is always good on his word.'' He explained. Molly smiled proudly, before playfully gloating.

''I told you! You forget, I do post-mortems all day, Mike. I can tell you what the last thing people ate was, just by looking at the stomach acid in their guts. Yes, you do owe me. Shall we?" She laughed, pointing a finger at him. He nodded, before holding the door open for her. The two walked down the halls of St. Bart's hospital, before exiting through the emergency ward's entrance. The sun shone down on them, as the walked up the street a ways. Mike stuck his arm out and hailed a cab. They climbed in, and the cabbie drove to Stamford's favorite pub.

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Thanks for the reviews and reads so far. Don't forget to go check out my other stuff. And keep reading, and reviewing. Thank you dears. 


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you reviewers:

Guest: Dundundun...guess you'll have to read the chapter.

Cutiepie030: thanks for reading! Stay tuned to find out!

Nosside: lol, 's how I was when I went back to read it too. Glad you like it so far.

Flyaway213: hahaha. I like your odd reviews! They make me smile! Thanks for being amazing. And for thinking my stories are too. That makes me feel special.

Juze: lalalala. Don't we all just love evil voices telling us what to do. Its such a fluff piece. NOT! lol.

Chapter four

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Molly and Stamford had finished their drink, and had then had about four more a piece. Mike was a little more than woozy, while Molly was still holding her own.

''H-how do you not look as sloshed as I feel?" Mike asked, his words slurring together. He took another sip of the draft beer in his hand. Molly laughed at him.

''I have five uncles. I was taught at a young age to hold my liquor.'' She giggled again. Truth be told, her head was starting to swim a bit, however, she'd never let on. They had talked about several things that evening. Work. The wonders of working with Sherlock. Family. Her mom. Drinking. Finally, they decided to call it a night. Mike held open the door for her as she stepped outside. They walked a ways down the street. Mike had held out an arm to wave down a cab, when Molly squealed in terror. Mike turned around, just in time to see her being dragged down into the dark alleyway by a large figure. He ran to her, trying to pry her from the figure's grasp. He saw it stab a syringe into her shoulder, pushing down on the plunger quickly. In moments, Molly fell limp in the man's hands, and he casually tossed her to the side. She fell to the ground, her yellow cardigan ripping on a nail in the wall.

Mike Stamford may have been short, but he could hold his own in a scuffle. The large man lunged for him, and were it not for the difference in height, he would have had Mike within his grasp. However, the shorter man ducked down, before throwing a punch. It connected in the chest of the attacker, who then leaned over, holding his stomach. Mike approached for a second blow, this being his major mistake.

The man grabbed Mike from behind his shoulder, holding him in place by his sweater. He stabbed into Mike's large stomach with a rusted switchblade, turning it like a key in a lock. Mike lurched at the pain, his mouth spitting out blood. He looked up at the over-sized man, whose eyes were blackened in a trance. He pulled the knife out and thrust it back into Stamford. Each time the blade entered his gut, it came out at a different angle. Blood poured out from the many tears and holes in his perforated stomach, his cries for help growing quieter as he lost strength. The man allowed him to drop to the ground, before quickly slashing the rusted metal across Mike's throat. His final breath gurgled with blood as the last of his life pooled out of him and onto the gritty concrete. The man stood and staggered back a ways, before turning to see Molly's fragile body lying motionless. He smiled and went to her. The man reached down, and picked her up. He placed her in the cab of his truck, before closing the door and sliding into the driver's seat. He drove down the alley, into the streets of London, until he was on the road exiting the lit city.

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Sherlock and John sat on the return train to London. Sherlock sat still, his fingers curled into each other as he thought. Perhaps the sample had falsely tested. It was possible, after all, these were machines. He would have to discuss that with Molly upon returning. Molly. Her smile. Her complete niceness, even when he was so cruel to her. The touch of her soft flesh under his fingers as he held her waist. Sherlock snapped up straight. His eye blinked furiously as he looked around. John had fallen asleep, his mouth hung open wide, as he snored lightly. Sherlock took to looking out the window at the passing landscape. He watched the hills roll by, he stared at the road that wound parallel to the train, the occasional runner stepping lightly on the sides. Sherlock glanced down as the road curved away out into the countryside.

''That's it! John, wake up!" John sputtered to alertness, his eyes wide with acute shock. He looked at Sherlock, whose face gleamed with excitement.

''It's soil from a farm somewhere! It has to be! When we get back, phone Lestrade. Tell him to meet me at St. Bart's lab. I have to run more tests.'' He said, before pulling out his own phone.

'Need you at Bart's lab in 45 minutes. Bring coffee.' -SH-

He hit the send button, and was declined. The screen flashed a red x, no signal. Sherlock merely pocketed his phone again, and St back. The train pulled into the station several moments later, and the two men walked out to fetch a car. John was just about to ring Lestrade, when his phone was sent buzzing in his hand. He looked at the screen, to see it was Lestrade that was calling him.

''Hello, Greg. We've just got back into town. Sherlock wants you to meet us- wait. What? Where? What!" Sherlock looked to his friend, who's eyes were widening with horror at the news on the phone. He spoke again, his voice wavering slightly.

''Okay, we-we'll be over straight away.'' He hung up the phone. Sherlock looked at John, who sat perfectly still, trying to absorb the blow he'd received. He then turned to Sherlock, and spoke quietly.

''They've just had a call. Mike Stamford was found dead in an alley.'' Sherlock's eyes grew to be as wide as his flatmate's. They redirected the cabbie to the new address. Upon arriving, they crawled out and walked through the yellow tape line, seeing Lestrade. He turned to them, his eyes screwed in thought. John cautiously approached the body in the narrow alley. His stomach churned in agony as he saw the details. Mike's face was contorted into a look of pain, mixed with sheer panic. Blood had dried all across his neck, matting in his hair, and sprayed across his wide glasses. His sweater had been shredded, the puncture wounds in his abdomen soaking the torn bits with blood. His knuckles were bruised and bloodied. John could tell he had put u a fight with whomever it was that did this. He had noticed Sherlock taking in the scene as well, following traces of the fight across the alley. Sherlock saw infinitely more than John, and perhaps John was glad he couldn't deduce everything like Sherlock could. Not after what came next.

Sherlock picked up an empty syringe from the corner of the wall. The tip had blood on it, and a few drops of the solution were still inside. He placed it in an evidence bag, and began looking around for more clues. He followed the scuff marks in the dirt as his mind told the story. He took note of the way the dirt had been moved in one particular spot, separate from the fight. Had someone been a witness? Tried to help Stamford? Sherlock's theories quickly built up in his head, until he saw it. He approached it quickly, plucking it from a nail that stuck out from the side of the old bricks. A long, yellow strand of yarn dangled down from the nail. Its canary color was stained an amber orange color with bright red blood. Sherlock's memory quickly reminded him of the source to its familiarity.

John walked to his side, taking note of Sherlock's stance. He looked at the yellow shred, and back to the detective. His eyes were dark, angry. He stepped away from the wall, and back into the street. Lestrade followed after him as he walked away.

''Hey, Sherlock! Where are you going? Have you got a lead?" He called out. Sherlock stopped and wheeled around. He glared at Greg and John, obviously distraught.

''Mike was killed by whomever took those three girls. Four. He's got a fourth now.'' He turned again, before Greg and John caught up to him.

''What do you mean a fourth? How do you know that?" John asked. He saw a terrifyingly mad glower in Sherlock's eyes as he answered.

''Molly. He has Molly Hooper.'' He said, holding up the ruffled bit of yarn that had come from her sweater. John suddenly recognized the shade, his eyes darting up in shock, to see Sherlock briskly walking down the street.

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Oh no! Poor Mike. I like him, really! And I love Molly. Sometimes these plot bunnies are ravenous little buggers. Hope you are enjoying the story, if so...let me know! Thank you my darlings. 


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you so much for the favoritess and follows and reads! Special shout outs to the following reviewers:

Guest: I know, I think I shocked myself a bit by killing Mike, but...it fits with the plot.

Ally: lol, I love funny excited sentences that directly follow sad ones. 'Oh no, Mike's dead...I WNT MORE!' Lol. Thanks.

Patemalah21: aw...I'm sorry if you aren't enjoying the story. I can neither confirm nor deny whether or not things will be okay. I hope you like the next chapters.

Flyaway213: lol, it's okay...I'm sadistic too, it was a fun scene to write. Sh, don't tell anyone. We'll be weird together. ;)

Nosside: Thank you. Sometimes I find it hard phrasing some of the more personal sounding lines for him, because they all seem OOC to me. On the whole though, I identify much more with Sherlock than any of the other characters, it makes it a bit easier to portray him in pen. I'm glad it's working.

Magicstrikes: dun dun duunnn...

Anyway, here's the next one. I don't own our beloved consulting detective ( sad panda) or any of his colleagues. ;)

Chapter Five

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Molly slowly woke. Her eyes were blurred with a drugged haze, and she felt her weak body slumped over in a seat. She focused her vision, to see passing fields from a window. Without moving her body, she glanced at the set next to her. There sat a giant sized man, his eyes focused on the road. The events prior to passing out came flooding back into her memory. She had almost started to hyperventilate, when she mentally calmed herself. 'I have to get out of here.' She told herself. Ever so slightly, she moved her wrists; untied. Molly knew what her option was, and she was willing to take the risk. With one swift motion, she opened the passenger door of the truck and rolled her body out the side. As she rolled down the ditch, she heard the tires to the vehicle screech to a halt. Molly forced herself to stand, and began to run. She pulled out her phone and pressed the call button. She hit it again, ringing the last person she had spoken to. All the while, she heard the man running after her, yelling obscenities as he chased her down. 'Come on, pick up.' She thought as she raced through the field.

OoOo

John had followed Sherlock home, and sat watching the detective. He was pacing back and forth at a brisk rate, his mind rapidly trying to sort out a puzzle. John was about to say something, when Mrs. Hudson came bustling up the stairs.

''Boys, it's Molly on the phone downstairs. She sounds like she's-'' Mrs. Hudson started, and was almost cut off by Sherlock blowing past her, and jumping down the stairs. He reached the phone.

''Molly?'' He asked quickly. He could tell she was running, her breath hitched and gasped as she moved. He heard a lower register in the back, no doubt her kidnapper chasing her.

''Sherlock! Help! I can't hold him off much longer!" She cried into the phone, her voice sounded scared, all the while the yells of a man growing closer to the receiver of the phone.

''Molly just hang on. Did you see any signs that lead to where you are? Anything at all? What does the grass look like? Are there any landmarks?" He rattled of a series of questions. Her voice trembled on the other end, he could hear she was growing tired.

''No signs. No trees. The grass is thick just off the road, and now I'm in a field. Short grass. I see a windmill in the distance. Too far away though. Sherlock, please find-'' her voice suddenly turned to screams of terror, as Sherlock heard the phone drop. He heard a struggle growing further away, and Molly's cries for help faded into the background.

''Sherlock!" She had screamed, before he could no longer hear anything.

OoOo

Lestrade sat in his office, having just come back from the crime scene where Mike Stamford's body was found. He furrowed his brow in thought, when moments later, his door busted open. Greg looked up to see an intensive stare meet his eyes.

''I need you to find the location of this phone, Lestrade. Now.'' Sherlock ordered. Lestrade knew that they didn't have time to argue, and he called in the appropriate extension. Moments later, a crew appeared in the small office, holding the necessary tracking equipment. Sherlock phoned Molly's number, and it rolled to voicemail. He listened to the sweet, nervous clip of her voice, it sounding considerably different than her terrified lilt from before.

Moments later, they had found the location of her phone. Sherlock sighed heavily as his earlier suspicions were confirmed.

''It says it's somewhere just outside Waterloo.'' John said aloud, looking over to Sherlock, then back to Lestrade. He then came to realize why Sherlock was so frustrated in the town. Lestrade picked up his phone and dialed for a squadron of cars to drive to the area, in hopes of finding any other trace of Molly or the man they were hunting down. He motioned for Sherlock and John to ride with him, and they soon found themselves in a caravan of police cars. Sirens blared as the vehicles drove single file down the road. John looked to his friend, who was deep in thought, staring out the window. He looked down at Sherlock's hands, and they fidgeted slightly.

OoOo

The cars had slowed to a crawl as they neared the supposed location of the field. The cars stopped, and officers began retreating from inside. They formed a long chain, and headed down into the ditch. Sherlock took note of black tire tracks that scuffed the surface of the road. He memorized the width and tread of the tires. He picked up the few clods of dirt that had matched the one he had found earlier. John had been in the long line of men, searching for clues in the grass. He saw an impacted spot in the ground, the grass having been flattened. Then, another. He followed the trail that the spots made, until he saw something glowing in a nearby thicket. He raced to it and picked it up. Molly's phone beeped with a low battery alert.

''Sherlock!" John hollered from across the field. He saw the detective's head turn, and then he began to run to where John stood. Lestrade also followed, and soon the three men stood in one spot. John pointed down to a larger spread of grass that had been flattened, directly behind where the phone sat. Sherlock and Lestrade looked to where he was pointing, and saw a large chunk of knitted yellow fabric tangled in the blades of grass. Sherlock bent down and picked it up. He traced the pattern that was intact, and matched it in his mind to the positioning of it on her sweater. He sighed as he remembered the pattern being somewhere in the middle of her back, barely hidden by her long hair. The remaining officers had continued looking for more clues. They found very little evidence to explain where the man had taken her. They found one of her shoes further up the hill, obviously lost during her escape. Sherlock had assessed the scene on the pavement, and found a small chunk of it had been covered with traces of blood and skin. 'She jumped from the moving vehicle.' He told himself, praising her for her brave attempt. He also reminded himself that in doing this, she may have shortened her time clock.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Oh no! Poor Molly. She tried super hard...and I wonder what Sherlock keeps thinking about. What's up with his hands? Guess you'll have to come back for more. Please read, review, favorite, follow, whatnot. Thanks dears! 


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you for the wonderful reviews:

Lucy36: I can't give stuff away, you know that. Lol, sorry your hands are fidgeting. I am evil, but with purpose. I hope you can forgive me for killing Mike. It wasn't my fault though, those pesky plot bunnies made me do it.

Almightyswot: lol, your latest review made me giggle. Yes, you may have some more. Damn the evil plot bunnies.

VPayne: you have some pretty good theories going there! Thanks for the review!

Guest: yes, he'd better.

Flyaway213: love makes us do all sorts of silly things.

2nd Guest: she has her good BAMF moments.

Patemalah21: I'm sorry dear. Please forgive me. Like I said, plot bunnies doing, not mine.

Guest again: lol, I'm glad you are a masochist then? ;)

Magicstrikes: wheee! Stressorcoaster!

Chapter six:

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Molly slowly lifted her heavy head. The last thing she had remembered was the man grabbing her by the back of her sweater. He pulled her by her hair back up the hill, and slammed her head into the metal side of his truck. Everything went black.

Now she sat, propped up in a chair in the middle of a rusted old building. She attempted to move her tired arms, but discovered they were bound. There was a leather taste in her mouth as she tried to clear her throat, feeling the strap pressed tightly against her lips. She looked at the wall in front of her, and saw several old tools lining it on hooks. Shovels, rakes, hammers, and a variety of assorted items. The wall was high, and rust dripped down from the seams where the roof was attached. Molly saw a large workbench on the same wall, with a large wooden box sitting on top. It was long, her eyes widened with realization. She heard a large metal creaking, and looked to see the burly man stepping through a large doorway. He approached her, a twisted smile on his face.

''You're awake, good. That's good. You must be hungry.'' He said. His voice was so...sweet. Molly saw a peacefulness in his eyes, as he produced a bowl of warm soup. He pulled down the belt from her mouth, and she licked her lips quickly. He held up a spoonful of the soup to her mouth. She tightened her lips shut, refusing to eat. The man sighed, and set the bowl down on the ground next to him. He then went to the work bench, and returned again shortly thereafter, with a basin of water and a rag. Molly tried to shy away from him as he undressed her. He took a large pair of shearers, and cut her yellow sweater away from her body. Molly teared up as she felt the woolen material leave her body in ruin, her mother's last gift completely destroyed. She now sat with her upper half exposed.

He soaked the cloth in the bowl of water, and after ringing it out, he began to wipe her face with it. Molly sighed internally as relief swept over her warm face. The water felt good against her dirty skin. This feeling was quickly replaced by anxiety as he moved down her neck and to her collar. The man's rough hands scrubbed gently away at her neck, and moved down her breastbone. Molly went rigid, and tried scooting away from him with her feet. His hand grabbed the back of the chair, holding her in place.

''Hold still, Anna, it'll make you feel better.'' He said softly, continuing on. 'Who is this Anna?' Molly thought to herself. His hands dipped down with the rag again, rinsing it in the water. He brought it up a second time, this time going to remove her bra. Molly reacted quickly, spitting in his face. His demeanor changed instantly. His eyes turned dark, his pupils dilating fully, and he looked as though he were a different person.

''You are not being very cooperative, Annabel.'' His voice was dark, evil in tone. Molly shuddered, but held her head up to appear brave.

''My name is not Anna. My name is Molly.'' She hollered in his face. The man growled, before slapping her across the face. Molly gasped in pain, and he grabbed her hair, forcing her to stare into his cold, shark like eyes.

''You are MY Annabel Lee, you should do well to remember that.'' He hissed into her face. Molly scowled in fear, and he proceeded in picking her up over his shoulder.

OoOo

The three men sat in a local diner in the middle of town. Lestrade and John were arguing back and forth about something. Sherlock didn't care to pay attention. His thoughts were somewhere else. He thought on Molly.

'Her long hair. Her sweet, nervous smile. The soft feel of her skin under his touch. Her brown doe eyes that stared into him. Would he get to see them again? Stare at her lips? Would he get to feel- ' Sherlock was pulled from his reverie by hearing his name being called. He looked up to see John and Lestrade looking at him in concern.

''Sherlock? Are you alright?" John asked. He nodded his head brusquely.

''Yes, quite fine. Just thinking about some of the details in the case.'' He said in his usual clipped tone. Lestrade raised an eyebrow at John, who leaned over to his friend.

''You've been muttering her name for the past half an hour.'' He said quietly. Sherlock returned a look, his eyes confused, as he answered.

''Have I?" John nodded his head slightly. Sherlock then stood, and straightened his suit jacket. He grabbed his coat and scarf from the edge of the booth and walked outside. Lestrade and John followed after him with their eyes. John took in a deep breath as he saw the detective walk out, string off into space. He withdrew something from his pocket.

''Shit.'' John said, seeing Sherlock light a cigarette and inhale a puff of smoke.

OoOo

He had thrown her into a cage, and closed the door loudly behind her. She scooted her body so that it sat against the bars. Molly watched him walk away, and soon, he was gone from the room. She sighed out, and heard a small noise next to her. She looked over, to see a girl in an identical cage to the one she sat in. The girl looked like a younger version of herself, she decided. She looked as nervous and as scared a Molly felt.

''Hello? Are you okay?" Molly asked. The girl nodded her head and quickly slid closer to the bars to speak.

''I'm - I'm fine.'' Her voice shook. Molly gave her a quick smile.

''I'm Molly, what's your name?"

''Samantha. I'm Samantha.'' The girl countered. Molly felt the name was familiar, then it dawned on her.

''You're the missing girl! You're Samantha Gaines, aren't you?" She asked excitedly. Samantha's face lifted up, her eyes wide. She nodded furiously.

''You mean they know I'm gone? Are people trying to find me? Are my parents looking for me?" She rattled off the questions like rapid fire. Molly nodded in reply.

''Yes, of course they are. My- my friend is a detective. He is looking for you. If anyone can do it, it's Sherlock.'' She said proudly. Samantha sighed a bit, her body relaxing. They spoke briefly, getting to know one another, secretly easing each other's stressed minds. The chaotic anxiety returned, however, as they heard the loud metal door open. Both girls turned their heads to see the man jaunting over to them. He eyed Molly wickedly, before opening Samantha's cage, and pulling her out. The younger girl screamed as he tossed her onto the ground, his arms pinning hers to the floor.

''Samantha!" Molly cried tearfully after her. She was useless to do anything. She could only weep and look away as the man violently invaded the poor girl.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I really can't write details about such horrible acts. It's a little too dark for me, so i hope you can understand my refraining in doing so. I hope you liked the chapter. I hope you will read on, and review, and whatever else. Thanks dears!


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for being awesomely reaffirming in my decision to remain vague. It means a lot. I love you readers! Shout outs to reviewers:

Almightyswot: only time will tell. Dundunduunnn...

Guest: lol, here's a new chapter!

Lxmo1019: aw thanks. I'm glad I can be of service. And yes...yes he is. I would say 'drop dead sexy' is a more accurate description, but cute works too. Lol.

Juze: yes Samantha is living. Keep reading, I promise you will eventually get answers. Thanks for reviewing, as always.

Compositionc: lol yea, I'll be honest, it kinda gave me chills after I read it over again. I'm glad you're sticking through though. Thanks!

Vpayne: ooh! Psych major! Please don't misdiagnose me, I swear I'm only mildly insane. Lol. Thank you for theorizing. You can share if you want. I am open to hearing them! : D

Nosside: lol...awesome review. Thank you.

Flyaway213: ooh...that sounds 'not so good.' Okay then, I am very glad I decided against giving more detail.

Magicstrikes: thanks!

Once again, I don't own the people, characters, or BBC. Meh.

Chapter Seven

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Lestrade had phoned in a sketch artist to draw a picture of the man. They returned to the train station to speak with the ticket clerk. He described the man to the artist, who scribbled away at the pad of paper. After a few minutes of refining, she showed the sketch to the older gentleman. He nodded his head.

''Yea, yea he looked just like that!" The man said, his head continually nodding. They thanked the man for his time. Outside the station, Sherlock paced wildly. His hands were held up in a praying position, as he committed the image to memory.

''He's becoming more aggressive.'' He stated after a moment. John looked at him curiously. Sherlock continued.

''His first incident was two weeks ago, and he took another girl the week after that. He took Samantha Gaines just days after, and not even 48 hours later, he took Molly. He is increasing his timeline.'' John nodded in understanding. John knew the underlying implications. If this man was shortening the time between taking the girls, it also meant he was shortening the time before he killed them.

He glanced to Sherlock, who seemed to have been thinking the same thing. His face was set in a stern glare as he stared at nothing in general.

OoOo

Molly sat in her cage consoling a trembling Samantha as best as she could. The girl sobbed softly, hugging herself tightly with her freed arms. Molly hushed her, murmuring soft words of sweetness to her.

''Shshsh, it's okay. It'll be okay, Samantha. My friend is going to find us, it'll be alright. We'll get you home to your parents, and everything will be fine.'' She whispered from between the bars of the cage. Samantha nodded between tears, trying to calm her shattered nerves. The two young women sat in their small cages, each leaning against the bars, thinking. Samantha, of home, her parents, and friends. Molly, of what was mentally wrong with their captor, how she could get them both out, and Sherlock. 'Please come soon, Sherlock.' She thought.

OoOo

They had posted pictures in virtually every business and on every street corner of the sketch of the man. They asked several local business owners if the man looked familiar, they had all said no. They had taken a break, and were now sitting outside in the park, when an older woman approached them.

''Excuse me, are you Mr. Holmes?" She asked quietly. His head perked up, analyzing at her. '64 years of age, widowed for almost seven years. No children to speak of, not any friends either. Pulmonary heart issues, diagnosed with only a year to live.' He smiled shortly, before answering her with a yes.

''I saw that picture. The wanted sign, hanging in the window at the postal office. I, I think I know who you're looking for.'' She spoke nervously, wringing her hands together. Sherlock, John, and Lestrade all looked at her. Sherlock was the first to move. He briskly stood, grabbing the woman around her shoulders. She gasped a little as he took her into his arms.

''Who is he? Where is he? Tell me everything you know about him! Time is of the essence, madame!" He said, slightly shaking her. John put a hand on Sherlock's arm, bringing his attention to him. He gave him a look, and Sherlock released his grip on the woman. She sat down on the bench next to Lestrade, and began to speak.

OoOo

The man had disappeared for a few hours, and Molly had noticed the large wooden box was no longer at the work station. She slowly realized what it meant. Her heart sank, knowing she hadn't been able to help another missing girl. She looked over to the cage opposite her. Samantha had fallen asleep after crying herself into exhaustion. Molly had stretched her legs out in front of her body, trying to relieve some of the tension. Her arms ached with dull pressure, having been contorted far past the stages of pain. Her fingertips were numb and tingled. She tilted her head back, taking deep breaths. The metal doors creaked as they opened, and Molly's eyes darted to see the large man enter the room. His hands and arms were covered in soil, and he rubbed sweat from his brow as he placed a large shovel back on the hook in the wall. He looked over to catch her gaze, and smiled at her with dull, glossy eyes. Molly's heart raced as he approached her cell.

OoOo

''His name is Clay. Clay Wesley. I was friends with his folks. Poor man, he's had it rough. His parents died when he was young, car crash. He moved to live with his uncle and aunt, also some of my friends. House fire got them a few years later. He sort of became a recluse after that. Didn't do much. I'd check up on him out there every so often. He read all sorts of stories, most of them were those scary stories. Ghost tales, blood and guts. His favorite was Poe.'' The woman explained to the men who stood in front of her. She continued on.

''There was one time when I had brought him into town with me. He met this nice young lady, sweet thing really. Anna. She was so nice to Clay, he was smitten. He had asked her out, and she had said yes. I suppose it was a summer sweethearts type of thing, because by that August, she was gone. Moved away without so much as a goodbye. Clay was devastated. He wouldn't leave the house, wouldn't let anyone in. He just, hid from the world. All alone in that farmhouse. I don't see him much, but I suspect he's probably still there. Mr. Holmes, has Clay got into some sort of trouble?" She finished her story, and asked the question, looking up to see Sherlock's face, deadpanned.

''Yes, madame, he has. Tell me, where is this farmhouse you mentioned?" He spoke with an unguarded tone. He was harshly honest, but it was nothing new. She sighed slightly, and answered.

''His parent's old farmhouse. He moved into it after the fire at his aunt and uncle's. Not too far away, in fact, if you take that road out, you'll pass it, just before Catherington.'' She said, pointing down the road adjacent to the park. Lestrade stood to join the other two, and nodded at the old woman.

''Thank you, ma'am. You've been most helpful.'' He said before turning to walk with Sherlock and John toward the car. John and Lestrade spoke to each other about devising a plan, while Sherlock strode next to them silently. He, too, was mapping out a plan. He only hoped that it would work.

'Hang on, Molly. I will find you.'

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Yay! Sherlock to the rescue! Hopefully. Anyway, hope you are still enjoying the story, please read and review. Thanks so much for all the support! It means a lot to me! See you next chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

K, wow loads of reviews. Also just wanted to thank those who alerted me to the name typo in 'Birthday Wishes' ... damn auto-assume. I have fixed said typo for you and future readers. Thanks again for bringing it to light. Lol. Any who...shout outs!

Flyaway213: yay more!

Guest: woah. Those are some good theories...even though I can't tell you if you are right or not. Lol.

Patemalah21: I hope so too.

Compositionc: lol yay!

Almightyswot: lol, once again...I can't tell you.

Nosside: thank you very much. Lol yea, crazy old lady be crazy.

Guest: here's the next chapter. I wanted to make the lady clueless...mainly because it seemed to explain why they didn't have information sooner.

Juze: cross your fingers.

Goldenvine: lol I think we are all shameless fan girls. Haha.

Guest: I try to update quickly...if at all possible.

Magicstrikes: I like how prompt you are on reviewing, I makes it easy to figure out when I've caught up on responding to reviews. Lol. So thanks for that. And no, I'm actually an only child. So I'm not used to doing things with others. I feel its the major contributing factor to my awesome imagination. Lol.

Here's Chapter Eight

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Clay pulled Molly out from her cage by one of her outstretched legs. Her skin scraped against the hard straw and dirt. She cringed and screeched loudly at the burning pain. He tossed her body to the floor in the center of the large room, and slowly walked to her. Molly dipped her head down, trying to hide from him. She felt his hands rip the material that remained covering her top. It dug into her skin, making her eyes water. He flipped her over with a forceful hand. She was staring directly into his eyes. His voice came in a gentle tone, the one she had first heard from him.

''My dear, dear Anna. I have missed this. Us being together. Do you remember what we used to do? Do you remember how much you liked this?" His voice crawled through her, making her gag as he groped her. She shuddered in disgust as his coarse hands roamed freely over her skin. He tugged her jeans off her legs. His rough fingers firmly gripped her by her sides, and she squirmed under his touch. He spoke again.

''But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we-  
And neither the angels in heaven above,  
Nor demons down under the sea,  
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.''

Molly's eyes widened as she heard familiar words. 'He's quoting Edgar Allan Poe?' She thought to herself. His mouth was soon on hers, as she struggled against the gritty taste of his lips. He released her, and she immediately spat out the awful taste. He looked down at her, and she saw the change occur in his eyes. They turned dark, an evil presence forcing its way to the surface. He chuckled darkly, and pinned her down under his weight. She gasped for air as he wrapped a hand around her throat.

''You're not proving to be a good option, unlike your submissive little friend over there. If you aren't careful, next time, we won't choose you.'' He whispered darkly in her ear. Molly stiffened and then cried out as Clay possessed her.

OoOo

Lestrade readied his team of men, going through the plan Sherlock had composed. They were to get in, apprehend Clay, and then find Samantha and Molly. Sherlock had significantly doubted that the other two were still alive by now. If he were brutally honest, he wondered if this Clay had kept both Molly and Samantha Gaines alive. Why would he? They climbed into the back of the squad car, and drove toward their destination.

Sherlock sat thinking of Molly again. What if she was dead? What if she was alive? What if she wasn't strong enough to come out of this? What if he never got to-? If one thing was for certain, it was that Sherlock was silently making promises to his pathologist if she promised to come back to him.

OoOo

Molly had shut herself down, going into defense mode. She wouldn't allow herself to acknowledge the brutal acts being performed on her helpless body. She felt numb, cold, and tired. She had laid limp on the ground as this monster of a man used her body for his own purposes. She thought on the words he so spitefully spoken to her. 'What did he mean?' She thought. Molly could hear his breath growing unsteady. Moments later, he had finished, and carried her still body back to her cage. She heard it lock, but was too deep in thought to notice. Too deep in thought to notice the loud hammering across the room.

'Next time. Next time he won't choose me. I fought him, spat in his face. Not submissive enough. Annabel Lee. Poe.' She thought through all the details she'd collected in her mind, she briefly thought how Sherlock would have already solved this. She smiled to herself. His face. His deep blue eyes staring through every fraction of her life in seconds. She would give anything to hear his dark baritone voice, even if it was insulting her. Thinking of the detective gave her some clarity, as she put the puzzle together in her mind. 'Of course.'

''Samantha, Samantha are you awake?" Molly whispered to the other cage. She heard her roll over, and neared the cage's end.

''Yes, Molly. Are-are you alright?" She asked meekly. Molly nodded her head, trying to ease the young girl's worry.

''Listen to me, I know how to get out of here, but you have to be brave, okay?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sorry for the short chapter guys, but I promise I have a good reason behind cutting it off here. Hope you'll join me for the next chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing and all the other stuff! Love you!

*poetry excerpt is from Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe. *  
*I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Edgar Allan Poe.* 


	9. Chapter 9

Woah to the awesome responses. Thanks you guys for flooding my email inbox with alerts. Lol. Special shoutouts to these reviewers:

Patemalah21: she is strong. I hope strong enough to win out on this case. I think time heals all wounds, so hopefully they will both be okay, but you'll just have to keep reading!

Friend2friend1: lol, no prob. Here's another chapter!

Cinnamon pink: yea, I know. Super short, but for a reason. Get off the pins and needles! You'll hurt yourself! Lol

Flyaway213: sigh, that would be epic. I like rhyming. It takes a bit of timing. Lol.

Juze: thanks! Happy reading!

Cyn4675: yea, I kinda wonder about that too. Lol.

Cutiepie030: plot bunnies are crossing the road. Illuminating, green plot bunnies are preventing him. Lol.

Lxmo1019: woohoo! 2 chapters is a good thing!

Vpayne: yea, I almost wanted that part not to happen, however, the rest of the story makes a much better read because of it. I think.

Lilbookworm89: thanks for reading and reviewing!

Guest: escape plans don't always backfire. Just a hint.

Magicstrikes: lol, I've been brainstorming those aspects myself. Oh the changes in my chapters. Lol.

Onto the next chapter! Oh yea, don't own stuff, I'm just a channel. Lol.

Chapter nine

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They neared a house on the road, and pulled in. Adrenaline rushed through John's veins as they stepped out of the car. He looked at Sherlock, who's face seemed surprisingly calm. Lestrade led the way to the front stoop of the house, and they knocked. An older man came to the door and opened it. Sherlock took one look at him and knew.

''It's not him. He's not strong enough to kill Mike, let alone take all those women.'' He said before turning around. John followed him with his eyes, and turned to listen to Greg asking the man questions about Clay. The poor man didn't know anything, obviously suffering from the effects of dementia. They apologized for the inconvenience, and returned to the car, where Sherlock waited impatiently.

''Could we please try to hurry this along? I'd rather not get to the scene of a crime too late, especially when it could have been so easily prevented with a little bit of acceleration.'' Sherlock snapped from the back seat of the car. Lestrade had turned around to argue, when John shot him a look from the rear-view mirror. He put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, and remained silent.

OoOo

''Listen to me Samantha. It will be okay. I will be okay. You just have to trust me.'' Molly said quietly to the girl in the other cage. She whimpered slightly before speaking.

''Molly, this isn't going to work! I can't- I can't do it!" Samantha had started to cry, when Molly so lovingly calmed her.

''Shh, it's okay. My plan will work, but you have to trust me, and do exactly as I say. When the time is right, I want you to run as fast as you can, okay? Don't look back, don't stop for anything. Do you understand?" She asked with all the authority her tired voice could muster. Samantha nodded her head slightly.

''There's something else I need you to do for me.'' She spoke. Then, they sat, waiting for their opportunity.

OoOo

The car continued to the next house, where a young couple resided. The husband didn't fit the description of Clay Wesley, but the wife looked strangely like Molly. Sherlock had mistaken her for the young pathologist when he had seen the swish of the woman's ponytail in the house. He burst past the man, and gripped her by her shoulders, wheeling her around to face him. She looked up at him, startled, and his face fell immediately. Her green eyes stared at him, confused, until her husband joined her side. Sherlock bowed and gave a brief apology, before turning and exiting their home. He stormed to the car and slammed the door shut behind him. Again, John and Lestrade followed behind, both growing extremely worried about the consulting detective's behavior. They continued down the long country road.

OoOo

After several minutes of the loud noise, the hammering came to a stop. Molly and Samantha both looked up, and saw the man approaching them where they sat in the corner. He veered to the left, opening Samantha's cage door, and pulling her out. She calmed herself as she was placed in the chair in the center of the room. Clay brought a bowl of soup back from the table, and offered her a spoonful. To his surprise, she opened her mouth, taking a sip from it as he placed it in her mouth. She drank it, feeling the lukewarm liquid slide down her throat. He offered her another, and then another. After she had finished the bowl, he began to sponge bathe her with the cool rag he had used on Molly before. Samantha's breathing was shaky, nervous. She had to remain calm, though. Clay had finished cleaning her, and then approached her ever so slightly.

''So, have you come back to me, my Annabel Lee?" He asked, his voice was warm, not frightening or chilled. Samantha sighed, before opening her mouth to speak.

''I have. I'm back.'' She said, her voice was weak. Clay smiled at her, his decaying teeth showing. Samantha summoned every bit of courage she could not to wretch at the sight. He was just about to press a kiss to her lips, when he heard something from the corner.

''Hey! You great oaf! Leave her alone! Get away from her!" He turned to see Molly, still in her cage. She yelled obscenities at him through the bars, making every bit of racket that she could. He turned back to Samantha, and stood from where he had crouched in front of her.

''I'll be back, my dear. I have to dispose of this...pest.'' he said in a darker voice. Samantha bit back tears as she nodded her head, looking over to Molly. She caught her eye, and Molly smiled at her. Samantha saw a tear fall from her cheek, her smile still intact on her face.

Clay opened her cage and violently snatched her from it. He threw her over his shoulder before carrying her to the other side of the room, and tossing her into a box. Molly could see the walls around her, and then looked up to see Clay staring her down. The wickedness in his eyes returned.

''I warned you what would happen. Warned you what would happen if you didn't behave. Besides, you're not her. She's come back to me. Now, I shall dispose of you.'' He spoke, his hands wrapped around her throat. Molly gasped for air, her hands still tied behind her back. She was unable to get out of his grip. He then stopped, slamming a large lid over the top of the box. Molly told herself to remain calm, her breathing was shallow, hoarse. She heard the box shift, and felt herself being moved. She could make out the distinct sound of the large metal door opening, and then closing again. She closed her eyes as she thought of Samantha. 'Now, run now.'

OoOo

They had tried several houses, all of which were wrong. Sherlock, as well as John and Lestrade, grew increasingly frustrated. They reached another house, and the convoy of cars pulled to a stop. Lestrade approached the door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again and waited. Again, nobody came. He knocked a third time, this time looking to the car. John's head perked up, and he nudged Sherlock's arm. Sherlock looked up, to see no one speaking with Greg. They stepped out of the vehicle, and approached the house. Lestrade motioned for the team to take their positions, and they filed out of the other cars.

Lestrade pulled out his gun, and busted through the door with his shoulder. The officers ran through the house, searching all the rooms, only to find it empty. Sherlock stepped in, searching around for anything. He deduced the area in the front room. Cobwebs on everything, rodent feces scattered on the floor, and a thick coating of untouched dust on every surface. He sighed deeply, before punching a nearby wall. John startled and looked to him.

''Sher-'' he started to ask, and was cut off.

''This isn't it! Nobody has lived here for nearly a year.'' He stated, his voice ragged and cracked. Lestrade walked through, the hallway, hearing what he had said. He called off the team, and walked to where the two stood.

''What?" He asked. Sherlock shook his head, before looking up.

''They aren't here.''

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Oh no! What's going to happen? Are they going to find Samantha and Molly? Find out next chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

Okay, so ff had a lot of issues yesterday...was this the case for everyone, or just me? Today it's fine though! So here's another chapter. More shoutouts:

Juze: lol, did you get a sneak peek at this chapter? Read on, my friend.

Childoftheriver: exactly! Poe is brilliant, I don't now why more people don't like him. And yea, it's easy to figure out how you feel about someone once they are in danger, hence why we put Molly through so much crap. Lol.

Patemalah21: yay for female empowerment is right. I feel like if I were in that situation, it'd either be 'accept I'm going to die' or 'do something to get out of here if I can'. I'm far too stubborn to just accept something, I have a feeling Molly is the same way.

Nosside: lol, aw.

Cutiepie030: thanks, for some reason I like cliffhangers. Had you are enjoying it.

Flyaway213: HAHAHAHAHA! Nice.

Oh yea, I don't own anything Sherlock or Poe...sad, sad day.

Chapter ten

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Samantha had counted to one hundred like Molly told her to do. She nervously stood up, and pushed open the large metal door. In the distance, she saw the large man operating a crane, and dropping a large pile of dirt onto the ground. She couldn't help but stare, her stomach ached. She turned and began to run, when she tripped over a long rope. The action waved through the rope, and a loud metal bell sounded next to her. She turned back around to see the man spot her, and start in her direction. Samantha scrambled to her feet and took off. She thought about what Molly had said. 'Don't look back.' She raced to the gravel road and ignored the sharp rocks that dug into her feet as she ran.

OoOo

They had been driving for what seemed like ages, with no new houses in sight. Lestrade went on and on about the old woman possibly being a conspirator, and Sherlock argued back that he would've known, had that been the case. The two men were snapping insults at each other when John eyed something approaching them. He saw a bloodied young girl with a tattered shirt and underwear shakily running on the gravel. Her feet were dirty, bloody and bare.

''SHUT IT, YOU TWO! LOOK!" John shouted and pointed to the girl. They stopped the car, and Greg raced to stop her. John wasn't far behind, and Sherlock was stopped in his tracks just outside the car. They reached her. As she saw the flashing lights, she collapsed into John's arms, sobbing violently. He embraced her awkwardly.

''You're Samantha Gaines, right? It's okay, we've got you, we've got you. You're safe now.'' John muttered sweetly to the trembling girl. She looked up after a moment, to see the long line of police cars. Tears fell from her eyes as she weakly smiled at John. Soon, she was ripped into the grip of another man, she looked up at him with fear. His deep blue eyes pierced hers.

''Was there another woman there? Did you see anyone else?" Sherlock asked her. She nodded fervently.

''Another lady. She looked like me. Molly. Her name was Molly. She said people were looking for me. She said she had friends who would find us and she could get me out and- and...'' she was cut off by the tears that kept pouring from her. Her lip trembled as she broke into another fit of sobs. Greg brought a blanket to her from the car, and wrapped it around her. She lifted her head to look at Sherlock. Sherlock sighed, his face falling downward. 'Was.'

''Are-are you one of her friends? She said her friend was a detective. A-are you her friend?" She asked, stuttering through her words. He nodded slightly, looking at her in confusion.

''She said something about A Tell-Tale Heart. That story by Poe? She said you'd understand it.'' Samantha said quietly. Sherlock looked up and down the road, he saw a large man huskily trotting after the girl. He ran and lunged into the man, plowing him to the ground.

''Where is she? Where is my Annabel Lee?" Cried the man from beneath Sherlock. He drove a punch into Clay's face. He punched into the soft man several times, his eyes darkened with pure rage. Sherlock continued his assault, beating him long after he had passed out. He barely heard Lestrade yell at him, before he was pulled off the man.

''Sherlock! I think you've got him!" Lestrade yelled, shaking him out of his trance. He shook his head, bringing clarity back to his mind. Sherlock thought, and quickly put together the puzzle. He snatched the keys from Greg's waist belt, and ran to the car. Starting it, he took off down the road. In the mirror he saw Greg yelling after him, and John looking on as he held Samantha Gaines.

He drove fast, until several minutes later, he saw a large metal barn, beside a small country shack. He pulled into the drive and turned the vehicle off. Sherlock ran to the house, and quickly looked for any sign of her. When he had found none, he ran to the barn. He slid open the large metal door and looked around him. He saw large tools on the wall next to him, a chair in the center of the room. He gazed over to see two cages on the ground, the bars covered in flecks of dried blood. He took in all the small details he could. He then eyed something from his peripheral vision. Something yellow. He turned and approached it. The large rusting barrel held a number of garments in it, most were blood covered and old. The sweater on top didn't even have a layer of dust. His heart sank. Molly's sweater.

He began looking for signs of a floor, remembering the clue she had given him. 'The Tell-Tale Heart. Where are the floor boards? Where are they?' Sherlock fell to the ground, searching through the scattered soil and straw covered ground. John and Lestrade had caught up with him by now, as they entered the barn. They saw him on the ground rifling through dirt. Nothing. Pure earth. Sherlock beat his fist in frustration. His fists pounded into the ground. He stopped, when a thought flashed before him. She said he loved Poe.

''Tell-Tale heart is too common.'' He spoke aloud. John and Lestrade could only stare at him with worried confusion.

''She said he loved Poe. You remember, yes? The woman in town said Edgar Allan Poe was his favorite. Someone who loves Poe wouldn't go with the most popular option. They'd choose something uncommon- something more obscure.'' Sherlock said as he darted out of the doorway. The two men followed him, and they stopped just outside the door as they gazed after the detective. He was running to a field, where a large machine crane sat. They could make out an outline of several plots in the field.

''Jesus.'' Greg sighed aloud. John and Greg looked to each other, before running to join Sherlock.

When Sherlock reached the crane, he climbed into the cab, only to find that the keys were gone. 'How predictable.' He thought to himself, before jumping down. The pile of dirt hadn't yet filled the shallow hole in the ground, but it was full enough that Sherlock grew worried.

''Molly!" He called. He heard no answer, and began frantically digging with his pale fingers. John and Lestrade had reached him, and their hearts each sank as they watched on. Sherlock tossed his coat off, giving him better arm movement. John ran back to the barn and grabbed a large shovel. When he returned, Sherlock had cleared another layer of dirt. John jumped into the pit with his friend and began digging. Meanwhile, Lestrade phoned for the back up team, instructing them to split up. One was to fetch an ambulance for Miss Gaines, and hopefully, Molly Hooper. The other was to take Wesley back to London.

The shovel hit a hard object with a dull thud. John looked at Sherlock, who looked back at him. They began digging even faster as they uncovered a wooden box. Sherlock beat on the top, hoping for some sort of response. Nothing. John kept digging around the side of the lid to the makeshift coffin. He pried it open using the end of the shovel, and with Greg's help, the lid snapped off from under the nails. Sherlock quickly lifted it, to see a pale and bare Molly. She was on her side, her arms tied behind her back. Sherlock quickly pulled her body out, and yanked off the dark leather belt that bound her hands. He felt her delicate wrist for a pulse, it fluttered lightly. He gazed over the purple bruises that formed around her hands and neck. His fingers tingled at the sensation, sending a small jolt through his arm, barely detectable. He gently cradled her head, and began shaking her slightly.

''Molly! Don't you dare do that, Molly Hooper! Don't you dare!" He called to her silent face. John's face fell as he watched his friend hold the petite woman. Sherlock tilted Molly's head back, and pinched her nose. He lowered his mouth to hers and began to push air into her lungs. He swiftly hopped into a better position and continued CPR. Sherlock kept looking to her face for a sign of life. Her hair stuck to her face from the blood that had dried, and her body was cool to the touch. Sherlock kept at it, his breathing growing hoarse and rapid as he tried desperately to revive her. John reached down to pull his friend away, and was met with a deep glare as he caught Sherlock's arm in his hand.

''Sherlock...Sherlock! She's gone, Sherlock.'' He said, looking in earnest at his friend, attempting to shake him from his trance. The glare grew in intensity as Sherlock pulled away from John. He returned to look at Molly. He pressed his mouth to hers once more, and blew in a long, steady breath. He whispered to her.

''You can't do that. You can't do this to me. Molly, come back to me.'' He pushed down on her chest again and again, his body feeling heavy with something that stirred inside his chest. He stared down at her, and wrapped her limp body in his arms. John's words echoed in his mind.

'She's gone.'

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:( poor Molly. Poor Sherlock. Onto the next chapter, hope you join me for it. 


	11. Chapter 11

Thank you to readers, favorites, followers, and these lovely reviews:

Lono: yay for another chapter!

Flyaway213: lol. Uummm, k? I hope that works.

Cyn4675: aw, I'm sorry.

Juze: read on, my friend.

Friend2friend1: I know what I'm doing, I promise.

Chaoticmom: first off, awesome name. Secondly, I hope so too. Thanks.

Compositionc: lol...I just love you. :D

Nosside: aw, thanks. Please don't die. I like my readers.

Vpayne: lol...nice. now that you mention it, it is a little funny to think about.

Cutiepie030: cross your fingers.

Cinnamon pink: but...but what if she's not?

Goldenvine: lol...aw. here, let me hug your fangirl heart. That sounds like it'd be an awesome play to watch.

Magicstrikes: nonono, the chapter is ready for YOU. lol.

Chapter eleven

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'Too late.' They all thought to themselves. John and Lestrade frowned, their emotions of concern pouring out to where Sherlock knelt with Molly in his arms. He was still, apart from slowly rocking her back and forth as he cradled her cool form. He closed his eyes and held her nearer to his chest. He had buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, when he heard something like a small wisp of air in his ear. Sherlock's eyes flew open and he looked down to the noise, to see Molly's chest move slightly. He bent down again to push air into her lungs a final time. This time, she drank it in like water. Her gasp was much louder, and she coughed weakly and heavily. John looked to her body, and Lestrade phoned the team again.

''We need that ambulance here, NOW!" He yelled into the phone. He looked to John, who was smiling in unbelief and wiping his face with that back of his sleeve as he looked between the two of them. Sherlock looked at her as Molly fluttered her eyes opened. Her body shivered from cold, and Sherlock quickly flung his coat over her. She barely was able to smile, but she reached up to his face, wiping away a smudge of dirt from his cheek. She opened her mouth to speak, and Sherlock found he had to lean in to hear her.

''I knew you'd find me.'' She whispered hoarsely. Molly closed her eyes as her breathing steadied. Sherlock smirked down at her, the distant sound of sirens growing closer.

OoOo

Samantha's parents were waiting at the hospital. They rushed to her when she wheeled in the emergency entrance. She cried, hugging them both to her. She looked to the passing bed that held Molly in it. She saw the several machines hooked to her, and saw the two men walk after it.

''Mr. Holmes?" She called. Sherlock stopped and turned to approach them. Samantha looked at the bed that quickly wheeled down the long corridor.

''She-she's going to be alright, isn't she?" The girl asked. He nodded his head reassuringly. She smiled at him.

''She saved my life. She was willing to do that...for a complete stranger. Mr. Holmes, when she wakes up, tell her I said thanks.'' Her eyes begged, and Sherlock nodded. He turned to walk away, and overheard the girl talk to her parents.

''I didn't tell him what she told me to say...if she didn't make it out.'' He turned back around and stalked over to her. She looked up, embarrassed that he had heard her.

''Please Samantha. It'll be our little secret.'' He said, in a charming voice. It felt odd using the technique on someone so young, but curiosity often got the better of him. He had to know.

''She wanted me to tell you, if she didn't make it out, that she loved you, and it wasn't your fault.'' She finished, and blushed slightly, as the doctor wheeled her bed into the examining room. Sherlock stood there, a smile creeping on his face. He turned again and walked to Molly's room. Upon entering the door, he saw John getting comfy in a chair. They sat in silence for minutes before John spoke.

''Okay, you have to tell me. Which story was it?" He asked. When Sherlock gave him a look, he rolled his eyes.

''Oh come on. The Poe story. I'm not familiar with his work. Which story inspired Wesley to kill people by burying them alive. And-and how did you know which one it was so fast?" He asked. Sherlock sat in the chair next to Molly's bed.

''I knew it couldn't be The Tell-Tale Heart. Poe wrote that the character chops up the victim and hides him in the floorboards. Molly was never in the house, and there were no floorboards in the barn. Not a difficult leap, really. It was The Premature Burial. A story in which the main character wakes up in a coffin, having been buried alive. The soil deposits we found, they were obviously different from the dirt that was in the barn. I knew the source was close, but had to be somewhere softer, a field. Finding Molly was easy, given the crane and a half used pile of the same soil directly next to it.''

''Why did he do it?'' John asked.

''He was mentally unstable. He most likely suffered from schizophrenia, due to the trauma of having both his parents and aunt and uncle taken from his life. That mixed with the high amounts of lead and iron in the water, would be enough to drive anyone into madness. Clay Wesley, no doubt, is suffering from long term and severe lead poisoning. His mind would be unable to process the things that were happening. He most likely mixed reality with happier moments from his past. The time spent with this Anna was clearly the trigger memory he chose. I suspect they will order him to asylum for treatment, before he spends his remaining pitiful life locked away in a cage.'' Sherlock explained.

''Why keep both of them, though? He had killed the other girls as soon as he found a new one. So why change his style now?" John thought out loud.

''He must have had a difficult time deciding which looked more like the woman from his memory. His mind couldn't choose between them, so he kept them both until one of them...'' his voice trailed off as he thought about the sacrifice Molly had been willing to make. How clever she had been in figuring out how to free Samantha. Just then, the doctor came into the room. Sherlock and John sat up in their seats.

''Oh hello, are you family? I can only inform a family member on the details of her status.'' The woman stated politely. John looked to Sherlock, and had started to speak before he was cut off.

''I'm her...''

''Brother. He is her brother, I am her husband. Please, do tell us what news you have.'' Sherlock said simply. John's eyes widened at the bold-faced lie, but caught himself before the doctor saw. She nodded her head before looking at Molly's chart.

''Well, according to her overall scans, she's mostly alright. She will have difficulty speaking for a few days. After all, asphyxiation does take quite a toll on the body. Now, her internal bruising from the sexual assault will take a few weeks to completely heal over, but after some rest, she should be right as rain.'' The doctor had continued her reviewing of Molly's vitals and information, though Sherlock heard none of it. His mind couldn't hear anything, as it tried processing what the doctor had said. John had asked if he was alright, another thing he didn't comprehend. He stood up, suddenly feeling the need for air. Sherlock practically raced out of the room, and barely heard John call after him as he left. He climbed into a cab and ordered the driver where to go. Several moments later, he stepped through the building's door, and marched directly to Lestrade's office. Greg looked up and saw the recognizable face of his friend. He noticed a different gleam in his eye, something much darker than usual. He stood up to greet Sherlock.

''Where is he, inspector? Give me five minutes.'' Sherlock said in an icy voice. Lestrade's brow knitted in worry.

''Sherlock, I saw what you did to the man in five seconds! If I give you five minutes, we'll be cleaning a body out of here. I can't Sherlock, I'm sorry.'' Lestrade explained calmly. He went to calm the taller man, but he twirled and quickly left the station. After arriving back at the hospital, Sherlock saw John waiting outside for him. He approached him, but didn't say a word.

''SHERLOCK! What the hell has got into you?" John bellowed. Sherlock turned, giving him a glared look. He then took to pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath. John went to reach out and touch his shoulder, when Sherlock snapped.

''I WANT TO KILL HIM! I WANT TO RING HIS NECK WITH MY BARE HANDS TO SEE HOW HE LIKES IT! I WANT HIM DEAD FOR TOUCHING HER! WHY HER, JOHN? WHY?" He boomed, his voice echoing in the small courtyard. Sherlock slumped over to a nearby bench. John looked on in astonishment, unsure of how to answer. He opened his mouth, when Sherlock spoke again.

''You asked me a couple of days ago what was with my hands. I never did answer you.'' John tilted his head in slight confusion. Sherlock sat looking down at his open palms, his voice just above a whispered murmur.

''Before this had all happened, I touched her. A grazing of skin, really. It felt like nothing I've ever experienced. It was amazing. Just a simple touch, nothing more. John, what if, after this ordeal, what if she doesn't allow anyone to touch her? To hold her? What if she doesn't allow anyone to even get near to her? How do I fix this?" He looked up at John, and John saw the sorrow swim through his dark irises. He shrugged his shoulders, before pulling his friend up.

''You'll never know if you don't try to reach out to her, Sherlock.'' He said, guiding Sherlock back inside.

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K, I couldn't kill her. Come on, she's Molly Hooper for crying out loud! Well, hm. Shall I continue? I think I shall. See ya next chapter. 


	12. Chapter 12

Okay folks...so sadly, this is the final installment of our tale. However, I will let you know...it IS a good one. I hope you like it! Thanks to everyone and a shout out to the following:

Lvpayne: k I just now noticed I have been typing your name incorrectly on here. I am so sorry. Also, I just wanted to say thank you for thinking my idea behind Clay's crazy made sense. I get a lot of strange looks when I discuss how I feel mental issues are often environmentally charged, as much as emotionally. So thanks for getting it.

Cinnamon pink: I like that too! I hope you like the final chapter!

Cutiepie030: lol, I considered it...but I changed my mind.

Flyaway213: Yay! I'm glad you liked it. Honestly, I am still not sure I like how I wrote him in this chapter, so you'll have to tell me what you think.

Daisherz365: best set of back to back reviews ever. Lol. Glad you love it.

Goldenvine: lol we ALL want them together...isn't that why we're all here? ;)

Nosside: yes doctor. You'll have to tell me how I did in this final chapter.

Juze: lol...it was a hypothetical question, really. I still had to finish. Lol. I couldn't kill her in this one. That'd be too sad.

Magicstrikes: lol, I was hoping someone would comment on his alias. Mentally I had wanted to elaborate on that more, between Sherlock and John, but I like the segway I went with much better.

Chapter Twelve

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They returned to Molly's side. They then sat in her room for hours, waiting for a change.

''She's braver than we give her credit for, you know?" John said as he sat back in his chair. Sherlock nodded in response. Sherlock had stared at the wall, and had begun falling asleep, only to hear Molly shift in her bed. John sat up, and went to her side.

''Hey there. Are you okay?" John asked as he reached out to touch her hand. Molly nodded and smiled at him. Sherlock sat up straight in his chair, following his friend's movement with a glaring eye.

''John, go get me some coffee.'' Sherlock ordered. John looked up, his mouth opened to argue, when he huffed a sigh and stood up. He stepped out the door muttering to himself.

''Oh sure, no problem. Let me just bend over backward for your highness...'' he continued down the hall, causing Sherlock to smirk. He looked back to Molly, her large brown eyes were gazing at him. His smirk disappeared, and he scooted closer to her side.

''You got my hint.'' She said after a minute. Her voice was quiet and raspy. He bowed down a bit in response.

''You chose the wrong story, by the way. It wasn't The Tell-Tale Heart. If it had been, we would not be having this conversation. It's alright though, I figured out the rest.'' She grinned at him, he still lacked any social tact, even with the fact that she was in a hospital bed. Molly looked down to see his fingers flexing and shifting awkwardly on the side of her bed.

''Are you okay?" She asked. She gazed at his face to see that he was looking at her hands in return. She slowly reached over, and placed her hand on top of his. His eyes shot up to her, and his fingers stopped. He felt a familiar twinge of electricity shoot through his hand and wave throughout his whole body. Molly felt the same, and she physically shivered. He opened his mouth to speak after a moment.

''You were willing to sacrifice yourself, for someone you barely knew?'' He asked, to which Molly nodded her head. He continued.

''Where in the world did you get such a stupid idea?" His voice was almost smug. Molly's lips curled into a smile. Sherlock looked at her, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

''You.'' She spoke softly. His eyes opened in shock, and then a small smirk appeared in the corner of his mouth. He sat for a moment, before speaking again.

''You don't get to do that again, Molly Hooper.'' He said quietly, not looking at her. She tilted her head to one side, confused by his words.

''What do you mean, Sherlock?" She asked, clearly unsure of his meaning.

''You were going to leave me, after burrowing your way into my mind so thoroughly. It's not playing nicely. I won't allow it to happen again.'' His voice was as clipped and punctuated as ever, but his eyes swam with emotion. Molly's confused gaze deepened. She opened her mouth to answer, when she was abruptly cut off.

Sherlock leaned forward and kissed her suddenly. Molly's eyes widened in shock as she felt his warm lips melt against hers. She returned the gesture, and, too soon, they split. Neither looked at the other after they separated. He mumbled an apology, and she squeezed his hand. Sherlock sat back down in the chair. They remained in comfortable silence, enjoying the exciting jolts that waved through each other. His hands sat under hers, still and content.

OoOo

It had been a month since Molly was released from the hospital. She had returned to work after only two weeks of leave, mainly because she missed the sterile smell and white shining walls of her lab. She had received many gifts of flowers and get well cards in her absence. Molly stood over a vial of blood and the microscope, when she heard the door close behind her. It had been a month, but she still flinched every so often at unexpected movement and noises. She turned around to see a young woman standing just inside the door.

''Can I help you?" She asked the girl. She noticed the girl had medium length brown hair and was dressed very much like any teen would be. The girl nervously twiddled her fingers, before taking a step forward.

''Um...you're Molly, right?" She asked, and Molly immediately knew the voice. She rushed the girl, and pulled her into a warm hug.

''Samantha, you're alright. You were so brave. I am so proud of you.'' Molly said softly. She felt the girl shudder as the tears fell from her eyes. Molly gently rubbed along Samantha's back, soothing her. After a few minutes, they pulled apart from each other.

''I- I'm not as brave as you are, Molly. I couldn't do what you did. I wanted to say thank you. For doing that. You saved me.'' She sniffled. Molly smiled at her and pulled her into another embrace. The two young women talked for a few minutes, before Samantha's parents had retrieved her. Molly smiled to herself, and felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

'221B. Please come.'  
-SH-

Molly looked at the phone in confusion. It had been a month. A month since she almost died. A month since Sherlock had saved her. A month since he kissed her. It had also been a month since she had seen him. John would visit her, telling her that the detective just needed time, or that he was trying to be considerate of her. It had been a month, and Molly was ready to move on past the wounds. She was ready for him.

OoOo

After her shift had ended, Molly took a cab from St. Bart's to Baker Street. She stepped out of the cab, and walked through the door. Mrs. Hudson was just entering her flat, when she wheeled around and greeted the pathologist.

''Oh, my dear, sweet girl. I was so worried about you. The boys told me what happened. I wanted to come visit, you know, but this old hip of mine rarely lets me be.'' She cooed maternally into Molly's ear as she hugged her. Molly smiled and returned the gesture. Mrs. Hudson turned and left Molly to proceed up the stairs, where she nearly ran into John.

''Oh, hello John.'' She said. He smiled at her, before switching steps with her.

''Hi Moll, sorry, can't stay and chat. I have to um...be somewhere else.'' He said nervously, before running down the stairs and through the front door. Molly looked after him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She turned around and pressed the door to Sherlock's flat open. The room was dimly lit with the lamp on the mantle. She looked to one window, to see the tall and pale profile of Sherlock Holmes. He was gazing out the window, seeming to contemplate life. She stepped in, and slid her coat down her shoulders. He turned around to see her, his stern gaze softening just so.

''Molly, I'm glad you've come. I must apologize for my absence during your recovery.'' He said, taking her coat from her. She looked at him, a smirk filling her face.

''How are you?" He asked after a moment. He looked intently into her eyes, his face drawn into a concerned look. Molly smiled at him, and nodded her head.

''I'm fine, Sherlock. I'm doing very well, both physically and emotionally.'' She said, reassuring him. She looked and saw his hand clench and unfold, and she soon filled his hand with hers. He looked up to her, and she looked into him, seeming to know his mind's racing worries.

''I have to apologize, Molly. For not being there. I wasn't sure if you- if I was wanted around. I am not familiar with the accepted protocol in a situation like this. However, I no longer wish to keep myself from you. I hope that's alright.'' He spoke in a muttered tone. She held her hand up to his face, caressing his cheekbone softly.

''Sherlock. I- I think I'm ready to move on. If you want to. With me.'' she said quietly, as she looked away. Her face was brought back up to meet his gaze, and he firmly nodded his head. His fingers carefully wrapped around hers and he lightly squeezed them. Molly tipped onto her toes and kissed him on the lips. Sherlock's eyes widened at the bold move from the quiet woman, and his other hand carefully brushed through her hair, carefully avoiding her still slightly bruised neck. Her hands disentangled from his and she messed through his curls, pulling his closer.

''Molly.'' he said, pulling away briefly. His voice was hoarse and unsure. She pulled him back down to her, whispering to him before their lips locked again.

''Please Sherlock, touch me.'' Her voice was quiet and pleading, beckoning him come closer. His voice let out a low chuckle, and he wrapped his arms slowly around her petite frame, pulling her in. The touch sent shock waves through them, as they continued to hold each other close.

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Well. That's it folks. I had considered elaborating more, but sometimes the kiddies just need some privacy, yes? Lol. Thank you so much for reading. I have fun writing for you all, and I love the amazing feedback I get. You are all so kind and supportive of my ideas, thank you. Keep an eye out for new stuff in the future! Love you all. 


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